


The Tough Guide to Life in Thedas

by TCD101



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Magic, Modern Boy in Thedas, Self-Insert, The Fade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-14 09:26:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16910343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TCD101/pseuds/TCD101
Summary: Modern Boy gets stuck in Thedas before the events of Dragon Age: Inquisition but decides its best not to get involved in the plot. This fanfic is about how I'd go about living in the Dragon Age setting as a civilian.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My major criticism of the plot of most of these fics is that most authors want to jump into the plot of the story as quickly as possible, maybe even become a main character of the Plot. I get it: fanfiction, especially self-insertion, is wish fulfillment. I have indulged in those fantasies, too. However, people seem not to understand that they are not accustomed to the levels of violence prevalent in a medieval world. Like… at all. Not to mention the drastic difference in the quality of the living conditions compared to the vast majority of the Western World. I’d like to contribute some doses of reality to a fandom that is clearly in desperate need to a little clarity.

It was late Friday afternoon. I had just got off of work at my summer job in the City (that would be New York City to be exact) and was on my way to Starbucks to meet my friend Anne. We had been besties since middle school and that had not changed past high school going into university. 

My destination was in the heart of uptown Manhattan. It was tucked away on the left side of the headquarters for the T&M Marketing Firm, a few blocks down from Grand Central Station. The place was perfect for our little get together considering that her university (Barook to be specific) wasn't too far away.

I took a seat near a window in hopes that Anne would not have to look too hard to find me once she arrived. I took out my phone and started checking social media. The girl would text me when she'd felt the need; I didn't want to act too eager.

First, Twitter for the news: looks as if Trump said something offensive, time to call the thought police. Next, Reddit, the front page of the internet (for white boys anyway). I found nothing of interest, so I moved on to Tumblr. Most people had taken up arms against their new content policies. With that, the meme market was at an all time high in terms of quality. 

I continued scrolling down my feed for some time until someone took the seat across from me. Expecting to see Anne, I put on my best face and prepared to say my usual salutation when I realized someone else had taken the seat. He looked as if he were sculpted by the gods themselves: white, green eyes, brown hair, round face, supple lips. He was handsome and dressed like an Abercrombie & Fitch model.

I didn't know what it was, but the man felt so…powerful.

“Hello.” I squeaked. 

He said nothing.

“I-I need that seat for a friend. I-” I stopped, for he spoke. 

“I am here to collect on past debts,” he said in a deep, monotone voice, “Debts that have gone centuries without repayment.”

I was stunned. Debts? What the fuck was he talking about?

“You must be mistaken! The only debts I have are to the state.”

“You must act in accordance with the agreements made on your behalf, boy,” he said looking a bit miffed, “This is as much for your benefit as it is mine.”

I stared at him blankly.

“You really don't know anything do,” he paused and seemed to shift uncomfortably. “Well then, I regret to inform you that I have no choice but to pluck you from your life here in favor of a different stor- I mean world.”

“Why?” Now I was quaking with fear. I looked around only to see that the world was chugging along as if my life wasn't on the verge of imploding. I wanted to scream for help, but the “power” of his gravitas seemed to wrap itself around my throat. Tight. 

“The pattern demands it. Some people leave an impression on Reality more strongly than others. This gives them weight, power over the world. For some, this power manifests itself more...literally than others of our kind. I want you, boy. I can feel you moving along the pattern, feel you as you play criss-cross throughout the Dream. You will do nicely in the World once you see things from my perspective. The lazy days of youth are over. The deal is done, and I will have my due.”

The wall of text that came streaming out of the man's mouth was so dense I barely had a chance to parse through it all before he made his move. Before I knew it, the world shattered and he seemed to force his power into me. I attempted to resist the initial incursion but it was too late. The man's strength in the power (and experience) seemed to win out.

“Don't resist me,” he said calmly, “Give in, I am not the enemy.”

His power seemed almost pleasant now. Like a flood of Light filling me until my conscience was as one dark drop in a white pond. It felt so Good. 

“Please,” I whispered, “I can't take it.”

“Good night,” he whispered into my ear as I collapsed into his arms. Helplessly. “All will make sense shortly.”

Even in the endless shades of green that now dominated the land, he seemed to know where he was going. He dragged me along his path. The Light, his Light, had blinded me to all but his way forward. As I passed out, all I had ever known seemed to quite literally fade away… yet I felt safe.


	2. Imperfections

The next I woke, I was in a soft bed. Then, I froze. 

White. Cotton. Sheets.

My bed was made of blue silk sheets. 

I looked around. The room was made almost entirely of stone. Wood was stacked in a fireplace and seemingly untouched. Thick wools were draped over me. Not a window in sight. An unlit candle, an inkwell with the quill to match, and a notebook topped a desk just a few paces to my right. A wall met my gaze to my left. A wooden door was on the far right corner.

This was unlike anything I had ever seen in my entire life. Was this a fantasy? A continuation of the nightmare of the night before. No, it couldn't be. This place felt more...intense than my experience last night. Color seemed to want to burst out of everything. The world felt settled. 

Heck, I could feel the world. Not touch. Not in a physical sense.

The world was real. 

Its ebb and flow. Its pattern. Its endlessness. A shroud laid over Reality perhaps. All threads woven together perfectly, no imperfections. 

But not perfect.

Something within me. This world and the Dream. Together but apart. Together in me. But why me?

I tried to get up to get a better look around, but I couldn't move. It wasn't like I was particularly tired. My limbs simply wouldn't work. I tried to lift my head. But nothing happened. I could not move. I was trapped in my own body. 

I screamed to the top of my lungs. Or at least I tried. But I heard no sound. Tears. Why me? Why was all this shit happening to me? I didn't even do anything all that bad up 'til this point. Okay, yes, we frat boys can get a little crazy when we're buzzed; and, yes, I am not a straight A student, but I have a 3 in the front of my GPA. That should count for something. Even if it's in another fucking universe.

I need to concentrate. 

I need to think.

I had to begin somewhere. I closed my eyes. Cleared my mind of all thoughts. And waited.

“If you can't move, then how did you assess the room when you woke up?”

I blanched. Who the fuck was that?

“A friend.” 

Okay, Friend. Normally, I would have had myself thrown into a mental institution at the first sign of a voice in my head, but a firm constant might just keep me sane.

I was not awake. Come to think of it, I didn't even think my eyes were open. It couldn’t be a dream. Too real. More real than my life back on Earth. Yet I could See the world outside myself. A thought construct (TC) had literally lifted itself out of my body. If I could do it once, I could do it again. But the mechanics for lift off had escaped me.

I could almost see them: the incalculable number of threads in the Pattern. What did they represented? What were they? Why were they? Out of curiosity, my TC reached out (somehow) and began playing around with the stitches. Whatever it was, it felt soft. I took a couple of the threads in hand, each “finger” except my thumb adorned by a single thread. 

My TC could have as many fingers as I wanted but that expended how much of my own consciousness I had at my disposal.

The pattern groaned but nothing happened. 

I looked more closely at the individual threads. Each one exuding an iridescent glow of a different color. Interesting. The threads only became truly visible when you touched them. I let them go. Each one snapped back in place in an instant. It was as if I hadn't touched them at all.

I checked my body again. My eyes were shut tight and my body was still immobile. Since that would not work, I had to try the next best thing.

I thrust my conscientiousness out and took hold of as many threads as a could in a fist. Then, I drew myself up out of my body. And vaulted onto the floor. (Astral projection). 

I landed on my feet as effortlessly as Simone Biles. I wasn't really standing on the floor. Or even standing for that matter. It was more like I had knitted myself into the Pattern. I accepted the floor for what it was; therefore, it was where I “stood”. 

I perceived the world differently in spirit. It was more like I was standing inside an impressionist painting. Aesthetic and all. But I understood everything perfectly. 

I glided toward my body. I was surprised. It was me but better. Somehow. I was MORE in this place. And bigger too. Thicker. Perfectly healthy. Clear face. No acne. My “heart” nearly gave out. 

What the fuck happened?

I checked the rest of the room. My sight set on a map in the far left corner just above the desk. Out of curiosity, I strolled on over to see what it was about. It was the map projection of a country I had never seen before:

The Free Marches?

I looked down on the table. Apparently, my angle hid other things. There was a letter.

Carefully, I drew the threads of the Pattern together so that I could lift the papers up to my “eyes”. (Levitation).

The letter read:

Dear Thomas, 

Gavin's situation is one of the most perplexing cases I have seen in years. The boy appears to be in as good a shape as any his age. Handsome. Above-average intelligence. Athletic. Virtue may have escaped him, but he was a treat no less sweet for it.

And now this.

I have been doing everything in my power to keep him alive over these past few years. No matter what we try, he will not wake from this sleep.

Yet he lives. 

I can feel the blood pulsing through his veins. His chest rising and falling with every breath. Everything is fine. But he is not here. 

We will do our best in the coming months. Should this continue, I may have no choice but to allow him to pass onto the next life. 

May the Maker watch over you, my friend.

Sincerely,  
Gabriel

I stared at the letter. Speechless.

“I have been waiting a very long time.” 

I turned around.

A being of light stood just by the fireplace. It had taken the form similar to that of a human.

“Hello, it's nice to finally meet you.”

“And me, you.” I spoke back.

“I've been meaning to ask you if you would like me to explain some things.”

I paused not wanting to sound too abrasive. I structured my words carefully.

“Yes, please. I'm so lost.”

“You’re home.” He said. “You're here. I thought that you would be happy.”

“I don't know anything about this place.” I said trying to act coy. “Everything is strange.”

“You understand the pattern, then. That's a good start.”

“Yes, well, could you shed some light on why this happened to this guy.” I still had difficulty trying to rap my head around my supposed identity. 

“You are a mage. And a dreamer. You had manifested when you were 16, but before anyone found out you lost yourself within the Fade. You never came back, but you didn't die; and so, you remained here in sleep. The situation had remained stagnant for about 4 years. Until I brought you back.” 

I was numb. Looking back, I don't think I could remember much of a childhood. Only my teen years. Even so, the spirit spoke as if I understood everything he said. Mage? Dreamer? This was getting a little out of hand.

“Then what are you?” 

“I'm you. And you are me. I'm the memories the Fade tore from you the moment you left this world. And now, you, my conscience self, will join with me so that I can be freed from this prison. To live again. To be human again.”

Before I could react, he threw himself into me. The world turned white.

____________________________

I opened my eyes. Awake and gloriously mortal.


	3. All the Money in the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lewis tries to sift through Doneth's memories.

I layed in bed for a moment. Perfectly still. And immersed myself in the wonders of my mortality. 

It was...nice. Warm and cozy. I melted into my blankets and closed my eyes, relishing in these last few moments of rest before we set the castle alight with the news of my return.

What of Mother? Father? Lily? Alayne? Niel? Ferdinand?

My old self had no choice but to remain near the body most if not all the time in hope that I might yet find my way back. In order to get to the Fade, he needed to use our physical form as a focal point from which he could venture unhindered. Lest he get lost within the Fade's endless green sky. He could trace his steps back down any path he walked so long as he knew where he started. His dedication to the task cost him, though. Most of the events that had taken place at home had gone unnoticed to him. All those years lost, but he had gained a lot from the experience on a spiritual level. We will retain that workmen-like spirit, that courageousness and tenacity.

He found the Fade represented a freedom that the world could not offer. Demons swarmed all about, but he could do anything while Dreaming. Or at least it felt that way. My absence had not hindered him in the slightest in the Fade. He had to have been made of tough stuff if he had gotten this far. Demons could be a menace, especially when they smelled fresh meat. I was a lucid dreamer myself. If pressed, I could hold my own. Though, I had never interacted with a Demon in my past life. I was happy that together we had the experience to deal with them effectively during such a critical juncture.

I pushed the blankets off me and rolled out of bed. The exercise gave me a good idea of my physical make-up. My body was taught with muscle from head to toe; however, I was weak in the knees and a tad light-headed. And for good reason. This man had been in a coma for four years after all.

I moved to place a hand of the table, when I felt a sudden, strong urge to sit back down on the bed. I froze in place, stunned by the display. The sheer strength was unlike any I had ever felt. (Metaphysical Pressure).What could that have been other than Doneth? I shudder to think that he might still be conscious inside me. More than likely any intentions of his would not be malevolent. But how was I to contend with an entirely other entity active inside my head? I thought that we had settled this just a few moments ago.

Life was not going to be that easy.

I drew a deep breath and continued where I had left off.

Hands planted firmly on the desk, I took a good look at the overhanging map of the Free Marches. This time I made a real effort to survey the map for clues to help fill in the gaps in my memory.

My eyes ran across the map until I mind lit up. Ostwick. Kirkwall. Starkhaven. The Amaranthine Ocean. A flood of images flashed before my eyes in a heartbeat. Everything was becoming more clear by the second. I wasn't Doneth; I was the spiritual successor to Doneth's whole being. I bet that the more I interacted with Thedas the more Doneth would subconsciously reveal about his past life. 

My identity was crystallizing. I was born out of Ostwick. Bann Cauthon's second born son. I had four siblings. My family was third generation nobility with family dotted throughout the Realm: Kirkwall, Starkhaven, Antiva, and Markham to be exact. Originally, our ancestors owned farmland just outside the city and traded with the outlying plots. Then around 9:05 Dragon, they tied their produce to the shipping industry within Ostwick proper. Fast Forward about 20 years and the Cauthons bought their first plot of real estate on the docks. They used the wealth generated from sea trade to buy up enough support among the freeholders to lay claim to a noble title.

My parents expected us to carry on the family legacy more directly. It was to be either hard labor on the docks or working administration while their first born son, Daniel, became the Patriarch of the family upon our father's death. I did not feel that I fit into that mold very nicely (because life on a ship always made me nauseous). So, they intended for me to squire for one of the local banns to help improve relations with the nobility (and our freeholders) and to develop a repore with the Hussars, the Ostwickian army's famed cavalry division.

We Cauthons were a well tended machine. Until one day, Doneth went to sleep and never woke up. That must have been a gut punch. They will be overjoyed to learn of my recovery. All the pieces will be back in place again. 

WE ARE A MAGE.

The thought hit like a truck. A flood of images, names, histories rushed past and I absorbed each one.

Dammit Doneth! I was never quite going to get used to that. But he was right. If my family found out that I was a mage, it would utterly ruin everything. Should I be upfront with them about my abilities? Should I submit myself to the Chantry, the Circle and its Templars? 

I would have access to better facilities for training in the arcane arts; but, I would lose almost all of my freedoms, power and agency in the World. Most importantly, my ability to continue to train in the art of the sword, Doneth's sole passion in life up until his Deep Slumber. Personally, I would have been content with Circle life. It sounded like a lifelong stay at Hogwarts with magical armed guards dotted throughout the tower. But Doneth seemed to like his former life a little too much for him to let it go that easily.

I made my decision: I will not be at war with my past self, my brother in a manner of speaking. We would have to find another solution to our quandary.

I stepped away from the map and opened the drawer in the desk. I put on some fresh smelling dungarees and a blue silk tunic. It was a tight fit but I could manage.

I gave myself a once over in the mirror. Not half bad for a man who probably shouldn't be alive right now. 

I walked out of my bedroom into the world somehow knowing I had Doneth's enthusiastic support.


	4. Home is Where the Heart is

I opened the door cautiously and peaked out of the crack into the hallway. The coast was clear. I pushed the door open all the way, only for the door to get knocked back. Hoping that I had not just knocked someone clean in the head accidentally, I turned, only to realize that the door had struck a wall. 

I let out a breath, only now realizing I had been holding it. My whole body was tense. And for good reason. I could not afford to give my Da or Mum a heart attack. I needed them here. With me. 

I took in the decor as I made my way down the hallway. Everything was the same as it had been when I had last seen the house. A lush red-velvet colored carpet was laid along the path down the corridor. It was dark. The floor itself was smooth, hard-packed stone. The walls were made out of large stone bricks and mortar. No windows. I found it strange that it was so dark, so I looked more closely at the walls to see whether there were any candles. But I couldn't see.

A flood of images vomited themselves up from the depths of my subconscious. Lit candles lining the walls. A store room. Matches. Down the hall on the left. My parents probably thought that lighting the candles was a waste of time and money since no one goes up here unless they wanted to see me. And it had been a long time since the day I was last awake.

I figured that I was going to need to march back up here within the next hour, so I decided to take the initiative to light them while I was still up here. I glided to the last door on the left and reached for the knob when I began to hear about sounds. I stopped just before the handle. They were faint at first, but they were definitely coming from within the store room. And the noises were getting louder.

“Hello.” I said, doing my best to draw the words out long enough for whomever was in the closet to be aware of my presence.

A sharp gasp shot out. Then, a flurry of movement. The sounds of a man up to no good.

Not one for games, I took the doorknob in hand and tried open the door only to find that the door was locked.

Real smooth, this one.

I was reluctant at first but it seemed like the only way.

I took the threads of the Pattern into a fist and packed them together as one would snow into a snowball. Then I chucked the medium sized ball of magic yarn straight into the door (Magic Missile). The door flew back with a fury, almost flying off its hinges. I should probably be more careful with how I go about these kinds of things but I doubt it will matter considering how far up in arms the household would be once I revealed myself.

I glanced inside. Two men as naked as they were the day were born, half erect. I wasn't stunned in the slightest. A woman just couldn't produce the kinds of guttural sounds that a man could when he was getting pounded.

“Good evening, gentleman,” I greeted, my voice cutting through their feeble attempts to claim some dignity for themselves. “Care to explain why you are mucking about with one another here?”

Everything came out at once.

“Please.” the pimply-faced stick-figure pleaded. “This is the best job I've ever had.”

His companion was buff, well-trimmed, and smooth. “We was in it for a bit of fun.” He seemed to be taking things a lot better than his friend. “No one e’er comes this way about. Ye see. We ain't causin’ no trouble.”

Interesting accent. Sounds and images move past blinding me to the world. Fereldan. If there was one thing I could say about Doneth, it's that he was a perceptive boy. Albeit a tad abrupt. 

“I see,” I paused drinking them in. No sound out of the next corridor. They were safe. For now. “Who are you exactly?”

“House servant.” Pimples said.

I cut in before Big Boy could say his piece. 

“A name, please.” I've got to be firm with these people. They must see me as a superior.

“Marwin Pennycoats,” He relented, then paused. “Sir.”

Good boy.

“Ewin Finngar. Nobleman. Sir.” He seemed as if he hadn't hit skipped a beat. Impressive.

“Good to know. Put on your clothes. I expect you back in your respective quarters in the next few minutes. I promise not to tell anybody. For now. We will discuss this at another time.”

Marwin heaved a sigh of relief, and Ewin had put on a good act, but his newly relaxed posture gave him away. I watched them clothe themselves to make sure they hadn’t taken anything with them. They hadn't. When they finished, I gave them a curt nod and they marched out in silence. They did not look back.

I stared out at them as they went down the hallway, and then down the stairs. Cute boys. Marwin had no meat on his bones to speak of, but Ewin was solid all around. His dick game certainly sounded like he had something to offer a man. I generally prefer not to judge a book by its cover; However, my professional opinion is that Ewin was fucking that boy with the same tempo as a you might find in a washing machine. 

I cleared my thoughts. No need to get doused in cold water. Yet. 

I focused my attention on the task at hand. My Doneth Senses were telling me that the matches should be in here. But I had my doubts. I mean it has been a long fucking time. 

I looked around. After what seemed like an eternity sifting through my parents old shit, I stopped to reassess the situation. Was there even a fucking point to any of this shit? I'm just following Doneth's intuition. Not my own sound logic. How could I resist?

I got up and dusted myself off, then something caught my eye. A notebook. Leather bound, finely crafted with the initials D.C. sown into its front. I took it. I didn't take the initials D.C. to be short for the District of Columbia, so I took a guess and, sure enough, the moment I opened the book Doneth's “thoughts” came directly to the fore. It came on like a fucking hurricane in my head.

Numbers. Dates. Personals. Coin. Friends. Family. Squire. Bann. Freeholds. Hussars. Military. Fighting. Boys. Shirtless boys. Docks. Water. Swimming. Wet shirtless boys. Power. So much power. Dreams. Boyz. The Teyrn of Ostwick's son. Dale Maldewyne. Father. Gerhard Maldewyne. Deception. Intrigue. More Boyz. Dick. Revelations. Kissing. Candles. A thousand candles. Lit candles. Fire. Blood. Rage. Fear. Undead. Running Boys. Darkness. And scene.

I gave over. And threw the fucking book as far as I could manage. I shut my eyes as the notebook slammed against the wall and crashed to the ground. I slept.

I did not Dream.


End file.
